Untitled
by Denubia
Summary: A DracoHarry. Set after the summer of fifth year, Harry becomes more mature and independent in a believable way and Draco begins to see that there may be more the Harry than meets the eye. RHr Bashing and manipulative Dumbeldore! ps...harrydraco  SLASH
1. Chapter 1

Untitled

A/N: In case you guys didn't notice this is a slash fic so please no lame bitching about the guy on guy love k? Obviously this story has yet to be named have any ideas do leave suggestions in reviews. Also, though this is under my penname it is a collaborative effort by me and my friend the-goddess-of-sex scenes, aka Kelly.

Enjoy!

Harry POV:

Platform 9 ¾ was bustling with life, children and their parents raced, laden with trunks and suitcases, towards the shining red engine in hopes of securing a good seat. Mothers were stealing last minute hugs from reluctant sons and teary-eyed daughters as Fathers patted their backs encouragingly. Everyone was saying good-bye to their loved ones whom they wouldn't see until that Christmas, everyone except Harry Potter.

Trunk and owl in hand, Harry trudged through the crowds, studiously ignoring the looks of those he passed. While still dangerously thin and frail, Harry's face had developed handsomely over the summer. His constant work in the gardens of Number Four Privet Drive had given his skin a golden shine that delicately emphasized his now prominent cheek bones and elegant nose. Slender hands moved to push soft black hair away from brilliant green eyes that sparkled with discontent, momentarily exposing the cursed scar residing on his forehead.

There had to be a reason, thought Harry as he heaved his trunk into the overhead bin of an empty compartment. But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, Harry couldn't deny that his best friends silence over the summer had disturbed him. He had received not a single letter or greeting from them since the end of term last year. Even the brief, vague notes that had characterized their correspondence the summer before were absent. He'd had to convince his uncle Vernon to drive him to King's Cross, who, though eager to be rid of his freakish nephew was not at all happy about having to drive him.

"Where are those freaky friends of yours boy? Making me drive you there, probably getting a good laugh out of it ain't you boy?" Uncle Vernon had continued in much the same manner the entire drive to the station.

Indeed, thought Harry as he sat alone in his compartment, gazing at the people still crowding the platform. Where were they? Though, that wasn't really the right question, Harry knew well enough where they'd been; playing exploding snap and chess at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. The real question was why wasn't he there with them? Though the thought of spending such a long stretch of time in the building that had once housed his late Godfather was distressing, Harry would have preferred it to his interminable and abusive time at the Dursley's. Probably Dumbeldore's idea of keeping him safe he thought as the hunched his shoulders, trying to bury himself in his seat.

Dumbeldore had been a sore subject for Harry ever since he'd learned the prophecy. He simple could not understand the headmaster's reasoning in not telling him, preparing him. How on earth was he to be expected to defeat the most terrible Dark Lord to exist since Grindwald without any training? Surely Hogwarts wasn't enough, hadn't generations of Hogwarts witches and wizards already fallen to his wand? Then there were his relatives, the more he thought about it (and he'd had plenty of time to do that over the summer), the more the Dursley's treatment of him had begun to look like the abuse it was, and Dumbeldore's passé attitude, negligence.

Harry clenched his fists, breathing in and out slowly he controlled his rising anger and again looked out the window. Staring absent mindedly Harry found his attention to a black cloaked figure a bit down the platform. There stood the most attractive boy Harry had ever laid eyes on. His hair pale as white gold, hung in loose strands around his face, blending with equally pale skin that appeared so soft and smooth Harry's hands clenched against the need to caress it with his fingers. In stark contrast were his sharp grey eyes, piercing and intense. What muggle attire that could be seen under his cloak was snug, extenuating a lithe, muscular build. It took a few minutes for Harry's brain to catch up to his body as he realized he was staring, quite sappily at his rival Draco Malfoy. He turned his gaze quickly from the window; a deep blush showing threw his tan. Impossible he thought, there was no way he was having amorous thoughts about _Draco Malfoy_, or even another _boy_ for that matter. It must be the heat, he decided, though his stomach was still filled with unease.

"Oi mate, you alright?" came the distinct voice of Ron Weasley, snapping Harry out of his trance.

"Oh Harry, you aren't sick are you?" said Hermione, what sounded like worry, coloring her tone. She smoothed the hair from his head, checking his temperature while he stared at her trying to sort through his rising confusion. It was so good to see them again; the familiarity of their presence was a comfort to Harry through the aching feelings of betrayal at seeing them act as though nothing was the matter. Pushing Hermione's hand away, Harry asked the question that had been burning on his lips all day, "Why didn't you write?"

"Oh Harry," Hermione admonished sternly, hands on here hips, bearing a startling resemblance to Mrs. Weasley. "You know that things have been tense ever since the Ministry of Magic fiasco! It wasn't safe to write, what if You-Know-Who had intercepted one of our letters? Honestly Harry, do you want a repeat of last June?"

"Of course not!" snapped Harry, offended by her tone, she didn't honestly think he wanted to see any of them dead did she? "That doesn't explain why you didn't come get me!"

"Really mate," said Ron, stepping up behind Hermione in a gesture of support that made Harry's heart sink, " the muggle's was the safest place for you to be because of the wards, Dumbeldore said so. It isn't like we like it, you know? We were just trying to keep you safe."

"Safe?!" Harry all but shouted, "Look at this!" He pulled up his shirt, revealing a long area of bruised cut skin on his side.

"Harry!" said Hermione warningly, "You really ought to be more careful!"

"Careful?!" he cried, "My bloody Aunt threw a gardening spade at me!"

"Language!" Hermione snapped, Ron nodding behind her.

With a frustrated groan, Harry buried his face in his hands, mumbling "You're impossible" before pushing past them into the carriages narrow corridor, determined to find Neville, Luna, and Ginny. Comforting himself with the knowledge that the _whole _world wasn't mad.

Draco POV:

Draco Malfoy sighed as he waited patiently for his father to content himself with looking intimidating before he could say his good byes. He scanned the crowed, sharp eyes noting his year mates, first years, and muggleborns, _mudbloods_ he reminded himself for the hundredth time. What did it matter in the end? He thought as he watched them gaze wide eyed at the train, he would be better than them in the end no matter how pure their blood. As he waited beside his father, he recognized the uncomfortable feeling of being watched, but when he turned to see just who dared stare at _Draco Malfoy_ their was no one.

"Draco", said his father in a condescending tone that made Draco flinch on the inside. _Malfoys never show emotion_. "I shall see you for the holidays, in the mean time I expect you to conduct yourself in a manner befitting one of your status." Draco nodded solemnly. He understood exactly what his father implied, act the good little Deatheater and be prepared to take the dark mark _soon_ or I'll torture you myself. Smashing, thought Draco, no pressure or anything.

"Until Christmas Father" that was it, no heart felt good byes or encouraging words, not for a Malfoy heir. Draco made his way quickly through the crowds, gliding snakelike towards the train, glaring icily at those in his way. Upon finding his flunkies, _friends_, he chided himself; he pulled out a copy of Advanced Potion Making and settled down for the train ride. However, it was not long until his reading was interrupted by the sound of quick foot falls approaching down the corridor. Harry Potter, looking quite agitated glanced quickly into their compartment before hurrying along.

Draco forgot how to breathe. _Damn_ he thought; when did Potter get so…_beautiful_? Though he had only glimpsed him, Draco could still picture his perfect skin and delicate face framed by soft hair in his mind. What would it be like to run his hands through that hair? No! He snapped himself out of his delusions; he was the Malfoy heir, lusting after a boy, especially the Boy-Who-Lived, would get him disowned for sure, if they didn't kill him first. Nonetheless, the thought of his father's reaction drew a smirk to his face. Ignoring his year-mates as they attempted to engage him in conversation and Pansy Parkinson pressed herself uncomfortable close to his side, Draco turned back to his book.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hey guys, I know I haven't updated in a while, I'm really quite a horrible person. I have recently gotten back into this story line and am in the middle of reevaluating where I want it to go, this is what I have for chapter 2 so far. Sorry for any mistakes in advance and I hope you enjoy!

RainSmearedInk

CHAPTER 2

Harry POV:

The remainder of the train ride passed pleasantly for Harry. Luna, Neville, and Ginny had been accommodating and understanding, if a bit eccentric. Luna had spent the ride regaling them with stories of her and her father's continuous searches for Crumple Horned Snorkacks while the other three laughed and smiled at appropriate intervals. Overall, a more enjoyable time Harry hadn't had in a while, they hadn't even questioned his presence, it was nice, he decided, to just be accepted without having to answer twenty questions. Questioning why we hadn't spent more time with them in the past a pang of bitterness shot through him at how effectively Ron and Hermione had monopolized his time. No more, he thought as he made his way towards Gryffindor table studiously ignoring their stares as he sat at the far end of the table, as far away from the head table as possible.

Glancing around him all traces of bitterness left him as he surveyed his home. Returning students chatted happily with one another: the Ravenclaws seemed to be in the midst of a heated debate while the Hufflepuffs smiled affectionately at their peers and the Slytherins exchanged polite conversation. Scanning the Slytherin table Harry's alighted once again on Draco Malfoy and was surprised when the customary feelings of hate and anger didn't surface. Instead, the only feeling he could identify was curiosity, along with a healthy admiration for the Slytherin's physique.

Turning his attention back to his own table Harry allowed himself a smirk as he thought of their reaction to his _leanings_. He had no idea whether or not homosexuality was treated more openly here than in the muggle world, but either way it was bound to be interesting, Ron and Hermione's expressions, he decided, would be especially amusing. Searching out the objects of his thoughts Harry's brow furrowed at the conspiratorial conversation taking place at the end of the table. If their secretive grins (honestly, could they be any more obvious?) and stolen glances were any indication, he would be in for a rough time of it. _Great_, he thought with a heavy dose of sarcasm_, just what I need, more people plotting my doom_. His morbid thoughts came to a halt, however, as his attention was drawn to the procession of first years currently ogling and stumbling their way into the Great Hall. _Ah, so it begins_, Harry thought as the sorting hat began its song.

Draco POV

_Absolutely pathetic_, Draco Malfoy decided; as he watched the sorting begin. The hat's prattle about 'house unity' and the cooperation made him want to gag. As if anything of the sort would happen this year, especially with the reemergence of the Dark Lord. The wizarding world needed a scapegoat and judging by the frightened looks he was receiving from the first years, Slytherin House was filling that position quite nicely. Draco sneered, causing a brown-haired-wide-eyed first year girl to squeak audible and avert her eyes. It was clear, even from his distance, she was shaking.

Having noticed the altercation Draco felt a set of eyes on him for the second time that day. Looking up Draco scanned the Hall, his eyes falling on Harry Potter who was just then looking at him with one dark eyebrow quirked slightly. That git! He was smirking, Draco scowled, bloody Potter. He and his…wait, where were his trusty sidekicks? Searching the table, Draco spotted them further down congratulating a blushing first year as he took his seat, every so often throwing guarded looks at Potter. _Hm, interesting,_ Draco thought as he turned to clap for a new Slytherin, filing the information away for later use.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

A/N: Sooooo basically I decided that taking 7 months to update was probably a bit excessive. Truth be told I felt incredibly guilty about it and the mournful brevity of the last chapter. With this in mind I resolved to give you a good dose of story while I continue to try to herd the plot bunnies in my head into coherency. Hope you enjoy this chapter and thank you to everyone who has reviewed thus far! They make me smile.

Chapter 3

Harry POV:

Thankful that he was not a prefect, Harry polished off his meal quickly and saying goodbye to Ginny and Neville left the Hall. However, he had only managed to get a few feet away before his name he heard the familiar screech of Hermione's voice as she called for him to stop. He turned quickly, face blank. He was tired and he simply did not have the patience or the motivation to care what it was Hermione and Ron had to say, or more likely, complain about.

"Harry! Are you even listening?" Hermione accused, poking him in the chest, "That is so rude Harry! You are worse then Ron!" She poked him a little harder for emphasis, ignoring his wince as she hit a sore rib.

"What do you want Hermione?" Harry respond, monotone.

"I want to know why you walked out on us Harry!" she shrieked, causing a slight tick to appear above Harry's right eye, having been on the receiving end of a number of Hermione's rants he could tell she was warming up to lay in to him.

"What are you hiding from us Harry? You stopped writing to us this summer! Why wouldn't you write to us? We're your friends!" Hermione cried, a disgruntled Ron behind her attempting to look hurt, piping in now and again with an indignant 'Yeah Mate!'

Unwilling to respond, Harry settled for a slight glare, cocking his eyebrow slightly. _Mmm yes,_ he thought sarcastically, _you two are the epitome of 'best mates' aren't you?_ What had them so interested now?, he wondered. They certainly hadn't showed any such inclinations over the summer.

_The summer_, the thought maybe Harry's insides freeze as his mind was inundated with memories. Uncle Vernon yelling, pain as boiling water was "accidentally" poured over his forearm, the gnawing huger as he forced himself to swallow the thick, cold soup pushed through the cat flap on his door. At first he'd thought they really were just accidents, things happened, especially around him. But after the third such incident, this time involving Harry being hit by Uncle Vernon's car, Harry had resolved to tell The Order. Surely they would rush to his aid as they had promised. But no one had come; Hedwig returned yet another keep-your-head-down-don't-do-anything-stupid letter.

A week of denial, of telling himself _tomorrow_ only to have his insides burned anew when he woke up to his room still locked and bars still on his window.

It was the worst week of his life and he had just about resigned himself to his fate when something changed. It wasn't a big change, not one of those life altering moments when everything suddenly comes into focus. In fact nothing came into focus at all; he was still confused when he woke up that morning in early July, still nursing the pain of betrayal. But that day he _did_ something; he cleaned up his room, changed the lining of Hedwig's cage, and began his summer homework. It came so naturally, learning and working, that he hardly noticed until he was half way through an essay for Snape. The rest of the summer had followed a similar pattern, in the morning and afternoon, wake up, make breakfast, and do all the household chores while trying to avoid "accidents" and sneak as much food as possible. At night, work on homework and revise, before meditating for an hour before bed.

The meditating was one of his greatest ideas, Harry thought. He had been exposed to it briefly during one of his cousin's many "diets". According to the pamphlet, it was supposed to center the patient and help them deal with the emotional problems behind their excessive eating. Aunt Petunia had shrieked after reading it, grabbing her son close to her bosom and wailing that no diddikins of _hers_ had emotional problems, but Harry had kept the pamphlet. It helped a lot, he decided after his first try, to just _be_. It was surprising really, how often he had thought through the events of the summer, his friends betrayal, the death of Sirius, and life in general, and had still come out of his meditation feeling, if not happy, peaceful.

Lost in his thoughts Harry nearly jumped when Hermione stamped her foot, obviously enraged, she opened her mouth, most likely to berate him for not answering her question. Raising his hand to forestall her, Harry shook his head slightly, unwilling to get into an argument while they were only feet away from the Great Hall full of students. Turning sharply on his heel and smirking slightly as his robes billowed, he made his way quickly to the common room, resolving that maybe Snape didn't have it all wrong, billowing robes definitely made an impression.

Draco POV:

It shouldn't have surprised him really, Draco thought as he made his way quickly to the dungeons. Potter was bound to crack some time, really, it was a wonder he had held out this long with Granger and the _Weasel_'s constant nattering. The expressions on their faces had been priceless; Draco smirked, savoring the image of the Weasel's face as it morphed from red to violent purple. This would take careful some careful planning. If Lucius Malfoy had one noteworthy characteristic it was his brilliant political mind; something which he had cultivated in his son from a young age. Draco had never had friends throughout his childhood, _indeed_ he thought, he didn't have any now either. All he had were contacts, pawns to be used by him just as he had been used.

For years Draco had willingly submitted, his confidence in his father never wavering, that is, until this summer. Everything had changed when his father had been sent to Azkaban; his mother had left him at the manor with veiled excuses concerning the up keep of the family home in France. For over two months he had been left only with his thoughts, left to analyze again and again where it could have all gone wrong. Weeks upon weeks of repeatedly punching his father's target dummy, desperately trying to curb the emotions that hindered his cherished Slytherin logic.

It seemed he hadn't been the only one to grow up that summer. Indeed, he had been thinking for quite some time about the advantages that would come with an ally. He'd thought maybe a Ravenclaw, or one of the more mellow Gryffndors. Slytherins, of course, were out, even if the majority held no aspiration as henchmen, they were all practiced actors and it was not easy so easy to differentiate friend from foe. Never in a million years had he thought he would be considering allying himself with _Harry Potter_. But the more the thought about it, the more it made sense in an ironic sort of way. Really, who would suspect Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy to team up? Draco smirked to himself as he rounded the corner and entered the Slytherin common rooms, a plan beginning to take form in his mind, who indeed.

Harry POV:

The Gryffndor common room had always been one of Harry's favorite places at Hogwarts. Not because of the bustle of people normally covering every free surface, but because of the multitude of hiding places that abounded when one took the time to look. Harry had found the best of these during his second year when the entire school had been convinced he was the heir of Slytherin. It wasn't a large space by any standards, just a small a nook under the boy's dormitory, but it was completely hidden, safe. He supposed many would think it odd after so many years of being forced to live in a cupboard under the stairs, that he would enjoy such close quarters. However, the truth of the matter was his cupboard was the only place he had ever felt safe as a child. Nothing bad happened to him while he was in there, it was when he was dragged out that things got bad, that Dudley was reminded why he loved "Harry Hunting" so much and Aunt Petunia sneered at him and called him "Freak". Being in his pseudo-cupboard was a balm for his soul during times of stress. In his new spot he could even see out one of the small windows of Gryffndor tower and on a good day the expanse of the Hogwarts grounds was visible. It was there that he went to think , or brood as the case had been in the years before, and it was there he sat now, soaking up the security of the small space, the solid feel of the walls around him. He wondered briefly, as he watched the moon rise over the distant mountains, if this is what it felt like to be protected.

It wasn't long, however, until the quiet of the common room was shattered by the arrival of the Gryffndors. The raucous laughter of the student doubled as the annual "Back at school party" began with vigor and Harry found himself burrowing deeper into his hide away. He was tired, gods was he tired. It was only the first day and it seemed that everything was all ready going to hell. Of course he had Ginny and Neville, he reminded himself sternly, but somehow the stop failed to console him. They would be his friends of course, for as long as they would have him, but he wasn't so sure he would be able to ever truly confide in them.

A resounding explosion from somewhere in the center of the room signaled the beginning of a house game of Snap. Things were bound to only get more out of control from here and Harry anticipated McGonagall's presence would be required before the night was through. So thinking, Harry roused himself from his spot, carefully stepping into fully view while avoiding being seen, lest his hideaway be discovered. As he made his way farther out into the common room, side stepping a gaggle of giggling first years, he could feel a number of heated glares at his back.

Turning curiously Harry was both shocked and hurt to discover that it was not only Ron and Hermione glaring at him (he suspected they probably would for some time), but the majority of the Gryffndor sixth years. Only Neville, sitting next with Ginny slightly outside the group was looking at all welcoming, a look of concerned empathy on his face. Sneering in disgust, _some friends they are_, Harry began making his way up the staircase, only pausing briefly when a belligerent voice called out after him.

"Running scared now, Potter? Not a big hero anymore, are you?"

Harry didn't need to turn around to recognize the voice of his former best friend and curse himself for his weakness as the flames of betrayal flamed anew. He continued his trek, ignoring the hostile comments that floated up the stairs after him.

Entering his dorm room Harry let out a sigh of relief at the sight of his familiar four- poster bed, gratefully slipping out of his robes. Grabbing his pajamas off of the bed he slipped them on hastily, glimpsing himself in the mirror briefly. Gods he looked a mess, his hair sticking up as usual, and his face had taken on a swallow tint, evidence of his maltreatment at the Dursely's. He didn't even want to think about the scars, _damn it!_ He was bloody sick of scars. Throwing the rest of his robes into his trunk, he climbed into bed, resolving to catch a few minutes of meditation before letting the exhaustion claim him. _Welcome home, Harry_.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Draco POV:

Waking up was always an unpleasant experience, Draco decided as he hit his alarm and rose swiftly from his bed. The dungeon was dappled with the reflected light of the lake outside, casting snake-like reflections along the floor and rippling along Draco's skin as he stretched. Making his way across the cold stone of the dungeon, Draco slipped into his favorite shower, counting on the hot pressurized water to revitalize him. It worked, as it did every morning, and by the time he stepped out of the shower to the groggy mumblings of his roommates, his mind was already at work, planning. The scene between the golden trio replayed itself over again in his mind as he prepared himself mentally and physically for the day.

Something was off, besides the obvious that was, with the three Gryffndors. He had been witness to such tensions before, specifically during their fourth year, but this most recent spat was different. Granger and The Weasel had behaved just how he had expected, all loud-mouthed and strident, but there had been something off about Potter. Normally Draco would have expected him to fly off the handle as he had in the past, instead he seemed only to be enduring the conversation, or tirade, as was more accurate. Most peculiar was that, when it was over, Potter had simply _walked away_. Harry Potter never just walked away, at least not in Draco's experience, and it made him wonder, with some concern, what could have befallen his rival to alter him so.

Harry POV:

Panic was the first emotion to hit Harry as the slam of the boy's bathroom door sounded throughout the dorm. Jack-knifing into a sitting position, Harry looked around wildly, mind frantically trying to assimilate its surroundings. There were no bars here, no uncle in a towering rage, merely red curtains and golden sunlight as it peaked its way through the gap in his bed hangings. Struggling to control his breathing, Harry withdrew his curtains, long fingers searching for wire-rimmed glasses. Slipping the frames onto his nose, Harry took a moment to enjoy the feeling of sun on his face before making his way towards the shower on quivering legs, dodging discarded clothing and shoes as he went.

***

More awake and much calmer after his shower, Harry slide quickly into his clothes and did his best to ignore the sudden quiet that had descended on the dorm.

"Harry, mate?" the voice of Ron floated with mock trepidation across the room. Harry turned to see Ron, flanked on either side by Dean and Seamus, raising an eyebrow he waited, wondering what was going on. A long silence stretched out in the room someone cleared their throat. Ron tried again, "Come on Harry, say something. We're your friends, stop acting all stuck up and ignoring us!" Maintaining his silence, Harry inspected his friend. Ron had grown, if possible, taller over the summer and had managed to gain a significant amount of muscle to go with it. Probably from throwing all those gnomes, Harry thought. Given this, he worked hard to curb the urge to punch Ron in the face for his words; the outcome of such an encounter would not be in his favor. Unlike Ron, Harry hadn't managed to gain any height over the summer, though the long hours of hard labor had harden him, he was still one of the smallest boys in the year.

"Ignoring you?" Harry asked, his voice thin. "I must have written to you over a dozen times this summer. And do you know how many replies I got from my so-called friends? None, not one bloody letter, don't speak to me about ignoring your friends Ron; you have no place to talk." Watching as the mask of sympathy on Ron's faced morphed into one of anger.

"We explained that to you, Harry!" Ron exclaimed, casting nervous glances at the other occupants of the room. "You understand why we couldn't respond."

"Well then tell me this Ron, what did my letters say? Did you even read them, or did you just chuck them in the garbage?"

Impossibly, Ron's face turned a more brilliant shade of red that the decorations of the room, mouth opening and closing rapidly, obviously trying to think of a response. "Of course we read them, not that they were very interesting mind you, full of you whining about how bored you were being stuck with the muggles." Ron finished with a role of the eyes and what might have been meant as a patronizing smile. Harry wondered idly as a second silence stretched across the room, if being 'accidentally' thrown down the stairs by his uncle was Ron's definition of boredom.

"I see." Was the only thing he said, grabbing his bag of the floor Harry swiftly exited the dorm, wondering at the look of unease that had spread across Ron's face as he left.

Hoping to avoid any more confrontations, Harry made his way quickly down the boys staircase and was halfway to the portrait hole when he heard his name. Turning reluctantly, he faced Hermione. "Harry!" She cried. "Have you spoken to Ron, then?" Gaining no response she continued, "Don't feel guilty Harry, I know that you were just upset, I forgive you for not writing. You will just have to try harder next time, we both no what happens when there is a lack of communication." She threw him a significant glance his way and Harry felt a pang of sadness rip through him, though he refused to allow it to show on his face, _Sirius_. Instead, he gazed impassively back at her, shock, anger, and hopelessness swirling in his mind and without hesitation turned and walked out of the portrait hole, ignoring her concerned cries and the looks he received from the rest of his house. What a start to the day, he thought as he made his way to the Great Hall. It could only get better, right?

Draco POV:

Coffee was a gift from the gods, Draco decided as he sipped contentedly on his second cup. Though his father would never allow such a 'barbaric' drink to be served at the Manor, Draco had developed a taste for it at Hogwarts, when he discovered it during a midnight trip to the kitchens. He loved exploring the castle at night, a quality he shared with Potter it seemed, if the stories were to be believed. There was something very beautiful and raw about the castle in the dark, one could never know with certainty what would come around the next corner, whether it be student, ghost, or cat. The unpredictability was what Draco loved most, his life was a cage, but for those short hours during the night, he was free.

But, because the best exploring took place late at night, mornings often left Draco less than coherent. He had discovered coffee in his third year, after over hearing a conversation between a few muggle born, _mudblooded_, he reminded himself, Hufflepuffs. He had been hooked ever since. Nearly purring in delight, Draco watched the rest of the school wander into the Great Hall for Breakfast. Sharp gray eyes watched carefully for his rival and possible ally. He spotted him easily enough for he was among the few Gryffndors at the table, sitting to one end of the table by himself, staring dispassionately at his plate and moving the food around with his fork. He seemed rather put out, and Draco wondered if there had been another incident like the one he had witnessed.

His question was soon answered as a pack of Grffyndor sixth years swarmed upon the hall. The Weasel and Granger, he noted, sat at the opposite end of the table from Potter, shooting furtive glances between themselves and looking apologetically up at the head table once or twice. _Perfect_, a disillusioned and isolated Harry Potter would be infinitely easier to get close to. He smirked in satisfaction, taking a final sip of his coffee; Draco rose as he saw Potter doing the same across the Hall. If he could time it right, they would exit the Great Hall at the same time. _So it begins._


	5. Chapter 5

Yay! I am definitely on a role, unfortunately for you readers, the next chapter will likely take longer as I anticipate that it will be rife with plot developments. Thanks for reading and reviewing, the reviews make me smile!

Chapter 5

Harry POV:

Harry hated the Dursleys for a lot of reasons. He hated that they hurt him, hated that they didn't love him like a family should, but one of the things he hated most was that they never fed him. For the first eleven years of his life food was a rarity and his body had learned to cope with that fact. He could still remember coming to Hogwarts and gorging himself on the multitude of food available, there was so much, and for once he felt completely full. He also remembered the nausea that came later, the rush to the bathroom as his stomach rejected the excess, and the burning of his throat when he finally went to sleep that night. He had learned later that because of his malnourishment as a child, it was unlikely that he ever be able to go through plates and plates of food as he had seen Ron do many times. In fact, the largest amount he could handle would probably be considered half of a serving to the average teenage boy. Harry hated the Dursleys.

Giving his eggs up as a lost cause, he rose and began making his way towards his first class, Potions. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that it took him a full minute to notice his walking companion. There beside him, matching him stride for stride was Draco Malfoy, looking as though the idea of the two of them walking to class together was perfectly ordinary. Unable to find any reasons to tell Malfoy go away, Harry settled for studying his companion's profile. Like Ron, Malfoy had grown over the summer and now towered over Harry by a good four inches. He also appeared to have bulked up slightly over the summer and Harry had to stop himself from admiring what appeared to be firm biceps too intently. Seemingly unaware of his attentions, Malfoy kept walking, eyes forward, face relaxed. The thought came to Harry that this was the only time he had ever seen his rival without a sneer or a smirk twisting his mouth, unlikely to come again, Harry imprinted the image in his mind.

They arrived in unison at the door to the Potions classroom almost fifteen minutes early. As was Snape's custom, the door would remain closed until the appointed hour when it would creak open and pity to those who weren't in the hallway to watch Snape glide out of the room when it did. With wisdom born from several years of close encounters with the large oak door, Harry positioned himself on the opposite side of the hallway as his companion placed himself strategically out of the way of the doors swing on the other side of the hallway. Exhausted from his night of restless sleep he slide down the wall, completely ignoring the presences of the blonde across from him and, laying his head to fall on his bent, knobby knees, Harry allowed his thoughts to drift.

However, unlike the average 15 year-old, Harry was unable to distract himself with thoughts of girls and sports, of friends and fun. Instead he was left to contemplate the slow degradation of his ties to the wizarding world, and more importantly, the vexing behavior of the student beside him. Where were the snide remarks about his parents? The prodding jabs of half-truths about his mistakes that would ignite his fury? Not that there would be much energy behind the anger today, though Harry. Still, the silence of the Slytherin disturbed him such that he found himself contemplating the blonde's face, eyes uncharacteristically closed in repose. Malfoy was either unaware or unconcerned by the scrutiny he was receiving and continued to sit peacefully, pale hands folded gracefully over his leather book-bag.

It was comforting, Harry decided, despite the surrealistic nature of the situation, the companionable silence that had developed between the two, almost as if he had begun to meditate without noticing.. _At least he won't ask any uncomfortable questions._

Draco POV:

The urge to scratch his nose was unbearable. His elegantly folded hands ached with the need, but there was nothing for it. He had to allow Potter his inspection uninterrupted, and that meant appearing as passive and unaware as possible. Unfortunately, neither of those states took into account his horribly itchy nose, which he was sure, had only decided to itch at the infuriating moment that he was most unable to scratch it. However, _being a Malfoy means doing lots of things that aren't comfortable for the sack of appearances_, Draco reminded himself, forcibly reminded of a lengthy Christmas party in which he had been expected, or else, to stand straight and proud despite his recently broken ankle. An ankle his father had refused to heal on the grounds that a little pain would teach Draco to be less clumsy and doge hexes more effectively. As if in remembrance his ankle throbbed sympathetically and in order to keep himself still to the inspection of his potential ally, Draco sought desperately to distract himself.

He began to sing. Not out loud of course, for such activities were beneath a Malfoy, but in the comfort of his own head, Draco began to chant softly the beginning lines to a muggle lullaby he had once heard during one of his solo excursions in muggle Paris; how he had envied that child.

_Amis, partons sans bruit_

_La pêche sera bonne _

_La lune qui rayonne _

_Éclairera la nuit_

_Il faut qu'avant aurore_

_Nous soyons de retour _

_Pour sommeiller encore _

_Avant__ qu'il soit grand jour*_

The slight echo of footsteps along the corridors warned Draco of his approaching classmates before they rounded the corner. However, it seemed that Potter, _Harry_, had not been so aware of his surroundings, and as the cacophony of sounds drew closer he jolted violently, eyes wide, in what Draco could only describe as panic. _But why?_ What on earth had happened to Potter over the summer that had turned the infuriatingly resilient Potter into this small, frightened boy? Furrowing his brow slightly, Draco met Potter's, _Harry's_, wary gaze calmly, standing up in anticipation of the hour. Harry raised himself as well, and there eyes met briefly before each turned to face their classmates.

A slight curve of the lips and an elegantly raised eyebrow were all that was necessary.

"_Thank you."_

"_For what?"_

**A/N: **Okay, so I am a complete French addict and couldn't resist inserting one of my favorite songs into the story. Lucky for me Draco has ties to France/ French! This song, named "Partons la mer est belle", while not technically a lullaby, is a wonderfully beautiful and somewhat haunting song of a fisherman returning home to his mother. A translation of the lyrics I included can be seen below.

*_Friends let us leave quietly_

_The fishing will be good_

_The moon that shines_

_Will illuminate the night_

_It is necessary that before dawn_

_That we start back_

_To sleep once more_

_Before the day has passed_


End file.
